


upon the midnight hour

by LunDiiVith



Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Incest shippers dni, M/M, Other, but just in case, don't worry about the end they Will kiss, how do i tag necron loving necrons, i know they probably dont give two shits about xenos, just let obyron get over himself first, mwah, they're men in theory but also like... are they really though...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27380716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunDiiVith/pseuds/LunDiiVith
Summary: Necrons do not dream. This is as true as the fact that necrons do not love, or that they do not have souls.
Relationships: Vargard Obyron/Zahndrekh (WH40K), Varguard Obyron/Nemesor Zahndrekh
Kudos: 16





	upon the midnight hour

It is a well-known fact, and/or obvious deduction, (at least for a subset of the galaxy's inhabitants), that necrons do not dream. They do not rest. This is, of course, something taken from them by the biotransference; their bodies are now stronger, and there is no need to rest them. Which is quite strange, but, alas, it was the will of their one-time gods, and, whether or not they like it, they can't seem to escape them.

Nonetheless. Necrons do not dream. This is as true as the fact that necrons do not love, or that they do not have souls. It is even widely accepted that the Great Sleep, the only rest the necrons have had since they traded in their flesh-cloaks for chrome and steel, has been a dreamless, dry coma.

But Varguard Obyron forgives himself the flight of fancy, occasionally, when thinking about how his Nemesor will so often — inconsistently, of course — shut himself up inside his chambers and pretend to have been sleeping when Obyron inevitably knocks on them. 

_Oh_ , Zahndrekh will say, _you've just woken me up, Varguard!_ Or, _oh, old friend, I was about to lay down!_ Obyron couldn't contain his boggled surprise the first time he saw him do this, but by now, he's gotten used to it. And... strangely enough, he's become reluctant to quote-unquote “wake” him for non-emergencies. He really can't explain why. Maybe he's losing his mind, too; who knows.

So this is how Varguard Obyron finds himself standing by Nemesor Zahndrekh's door, waiting for him to “wake up”, to tell him he's been ordered to take on a planet of rowdy greenskins for the hundredth time. And it is also how Obyron finds himself wondering... what _would_ Zahndrekh dream about, if he could?

He doesn't doubt for a moment that Zandrekh has deluded himself into believing that he dreams, is the thing. But _what_ could he possibly dream about? His previous life as a necrontyr? His life now, eons later, painted over with the illusion that coats his eyes? Either possibility sounds... well, oddly depressing.

He's forgotten, he realizes belatedly, how exactly dreams go. Oh, he remembers dreams. He remembers the concept, the execution, and the rough general idea. But somewhere along the way he's left behind things like the most common dreams shared by the necrontyr while sleeping, or any similar knowledge he could use to reconstruct a possible dream from his Nemesor. Does he remember any of his _own_ dreams, anyways?

The answer, his circuits inform him, is a timid _yes_. There _are_ a few dreams of his that he remembers. Obyron orders them displayed before his eyes — and his circuits refuse.

_Why?_ , he asks himself, annoyed. The response doesn't help at all: _they might be considered a private or personal matter, not to be shared_. Obyron would _tsk_ if he could, but he just replies with a frustrated _I am not showing them to anyone, I am only accessing them_. Something within his brain shrugs, as if saying, _as you wish_ , and before Obyron's very eyes rolls the last dream he remembers from his necrontyr years.

_Zahndrekh's head fits under his chin perfectly. Obyron has an arm around Zahndrekh's shoulders and another one holding onto him from the front, their hands interlaced, and Zahndrekh is leaning onto Obyron's shoulder. Zahndrekh lifts his legs up under Obyron's arm and scoots back a little, finding space to fit his feet on the cot and pushing himself and Zahndrekh back, far enough for their backs to hit the wall. He leans a bit more aggressively onto Obyron and almost nuzzles him, with his fuzzy, short-cropped head rubbing against Obyron's stubbly jawline. He holds Obyron's arm and squeezes a little bit, just enough to be reassuring._

_"My Obyron," he whispers, and Obyron can't but feel—_ soft _. He doesn't protest when Zahndrekh shifts to lay his legs on Obyron's lap, or when he lifts his head up and Obyron's jaw rubs against his cheekbone, or even when Zahndrekh lifts one hand to cup Obyron's face and bring it closer, facing his own. And where Zahndrekh seems happy just kissing Obyron's cheek, Obyron very purposefully tilts Zahndrekh's face to meet his lips._

_Their kiss is freeing in its gentleness. Here, they aren't Nemesor and Varguard. Here, they don't have to return to war. Here, they're just Zahndrekh and Obyron, two souls who've found themselves becoming unbearably fond of each other, and are loyal to each other unto death as a result. And if that isn't love, then what is?_

Obyron stands frozen in the hallway. He doesn't, he _can't_ find it in himself to think about what that means. He doesn't have reflexes anymore, per se, but something within him hasn't got the memo— because impulsively, he replays the dream from the beginning. He doesn't know how long he stays there, looping it; pausing it, always, just after their lips meet; and rewinding. 

He doubts it's noticeable from the outside, what he's doing. Still, there’s a burning feeling of shame within him that he can't even begin to process. This — _information_ had gotten smudged along the way, left behind with his flesh body, it seems, and finding it again feels both exhilarating and painful. He doesn't even know if the dream is a memory or a fabrication, but just knows that, even if dreams don't always signal interest or intent to pursue... in this case, it definitely did signal, ah, _something_. He knows it, but he can't really... _articulate_ it? He can't elaborate on what the dream _means_ , or how he feels about it, and so he just replays it, trying every time not to look forward to the kiss, trying to focus on the blurry details of the dream and failing.

What snaps him out of it is, unsurprisingly, quite mundane; it’s the _click_ of the door to his Nemesor's chambers, followed by his heavy metal body stepping cautiously out of the room. And suddenly Obyron is facing Zahndrekh, who looks at him with a curious head-tilt and asks,

"Obyron? Is anything wrong?"

Obyron tries to speak, suddenly feeling his metal skin like a prison all over again. Here’s a thought: he cannot love anymore. He squandered whatever chance he had before. He's not processing this properly, though, sending every last droplet of the veritable cascade of emotion he's feeling right now straight to the express-deletion garbage bin, _and_ he can't stop thinking about dream-Zahndrekh's words. _My Obyron_.

"Obyron?" Zahndrekh questions again. Obyron snaps to attention and delivers the news he's been told to bring and Zahndrekh chides him for not waking him if it was _that important, old friend_ , and something in that pet name suddenly weights wrongly on Obyron's rib-cage. If he still needed to breath he'd gasp, maybe, or sigh softer than he ever did in life. And as Zahndrekh leaves to check on the ship and see it's being brought to where it needs to be, Obyron looks down and marks all of these memories as priority for deletion. _My Obyron_.

_His_ , he thinks, and rotates the word a bit in his mind, trying to feel it out. Obyron doesn't need to say it, though; it's already obvious. Isn't it?

(Obyron, of course, forgets all of this a long time before ever setting foot in Doahht.)

**Author's Note:**

> le [link to my tumblr](https://luwupercal.tumblr.com/) has arrived


End file.
